


Breathe And Bleed

by RuiningYourLife



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Pencey Prep, Pet Salamander, The Academy Is..., The Young Veins
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Cafe Fic, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Cuddling, Cutie Brendon, Excessive Drinking, First Dates, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hangover, Hearing aids, Hiding Medical Issues, Hugging, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kissing, M/M, Makeouts, Nervous!Ryan, Panic Attacks, Pete is emo, Pre-Panic!, Recreational Drug Use, Rocksound, Ryan has a leather jacket, Secrets, Shotgunning, Shy!Ryan, Stress, Stress Relief, Treehouse and shit, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, Weed, asshole gabe, post-Panic!, sometimes he's sweet really ok, there are so many of those oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuiningYourLife/pseuds/RuiningYourLife
Summary: Ryan Ross is a hopeless romantic who's actually given up  on the romantic part.So, essentially, he's just hopeless.The only thing worse than his love life?His hearing.





	1. 001

Ryan had, admittedly, been a little distracted this morning. He’d discovered that it was pretty difficult to remember to pack something important, something as simple as, say, a guitar, when he barely remembered to set his alarm. His friends didn't mind his forgetfulness, and he thought that this _might_ be because he had, like, three friends. Ryan didn't think he'd ever grown out of his “I’m a teenager so I’m awkward in social situations” phase. He didn't think he ever would, honestly.

  
He scrambled out of his car, already being late enough as it was. He was about to burst in through the back door of the café, when he froze. He walked back to his car, grabbing the small grey case from the pocket in the front seat. He actually remembered to lock it this time, too. He hurried back up the steps, looking around nervously to make sure no one had seen him, and shoved the grey case into his jacket pocket. He loved this jacket more than he probably should- It was the one thing Ryan never seemed to forget. It was black leather, and he thought it sat on his shoulders quite nicely, if he did say so himself.  
  
“Hey, it’s Ryan Ross! And he’s only...” The tall, tanned man glanced at the clock, a smirk on his face. “Twenty minutes late! It’s a new record!”  
  
“Shut up Gabe, its only 8, you aren’t allowed to be an asshole yet. Besides, we’re never really busy until 9. You only like him to be on time because you make the poor guy do all your wo-“ William was cut off by Gabe. From Ryan’s experience, it was hardly the first time.  
  
“That’s hardly true! I just enjoy his presence! We’re great friends, aren’t we Ryan?” Gabe grinned, and Ryan smiled back. Gabe and William were possibly Ryan’s best friends, even if Gabe was kind of an asshole sometimes. He was a nice asshole though- Ryan started laughing inwardly at his own joke.  
  
“So, Ryan! What can we get our star?” Gabe winked, and Ryan visibly blushed.  
“Oh, Um.. I don’t- I don’t know.. Surprise me?”  
“Okay. If you ask nicely, I’ll give you a lot more surprises- anything for one of Bill's friends.” William outwardly cringed, before turning to Ryan.  
  
William laughed at Ryan’s equally awkward expression. “While we make you a drink, why don’t you go set up?” Ryan wondered why he was feeling lighter this morning. He groaned, realising he’d completely forgotten the one thing he’d come here to do- Play. William paused, and smiled sympathetically, before heading off into the back room.  
  
“At least you can hear us today though, hey?” Gabe smiled sympathetically. Ryan tried to make the most out of that moment, He knew genuinely-nice-Gabe was a rare situation. William, however, returned moments later with what Ryan recognised to be his OWN spare guitar. The guitar that he’d blatantly FORGOTTEN he’d left here, just in case he left the other one at home. Today happened to be one of those situations. Ryan mentally kicked himself and sighed. He took the guitar thankfully, appreciative that they’d kept it in tune for him. They exchanged smiles once more, and William worked his way through the small, open kitchen. Ryan left through the staff door into the main café. Some of the regulars welcomed him, which he returned happily. He tucked his hair behind his ear, wincing inwardly and the sound he got back. It was like a rush of wind, a noise that was essentially what happens when you blow into a microphone. 20 years, and Ryan still hated that sound. The café was a nice, warm building, the walls a light shade of brown. There were about 9 tables dotted across the restaurant, each of them made with a dark brown wood. He came here so often, he considered it his second home. Though, based on how much he slept here, it was probably more like his first home. Medical bills were a bitch to your rent. Nothing particularly stood out about the café, Ryan just loved the way it practically radiated heat.  
  
The bell above the door rang softly as Ryan finally finished plugging the jack into his acoustic guitar, and he glanced round. He reached behind his ears, one by one, and reached for the grey case in his pocket. He placed the bright red case and tube into the box, pulling open the battery compartment. He shut the box again with a click, placed it carefully in his pocket and took off his jacket. Placing it in the corner, he took in the newfound silence. Everything was a lot more peaceful like this, he thought.  
It was only as Ryan sat down and started to play did he notice someone who DEFINITELY wasn’t a regular. Ryan was CERTAIN he’d have noticed that before. He stumbled on his playing, earning a couple of odd glances. He kept his head down the rest of the performance, not wanting to even look at the man, in case they made eye contact, and Ryan spontaneously combusted. He somehow managed to get through the rest of his performance, and glanced over at William, who was leaning against the wall watching. Ryan propped his guitar up against the wall, using the break to take a drink of the “surprise” Gabe has granted him with.  
  
“So much for a surprise…” He took another sip of the Irish coffee.  
  
The man he’d been gazing at before had now turned his attention to Ryan, and Ryan almost choked on his coffee. He had a better view of the man’s features now, and they were some of the best features he’d ever seen. Smooth, tanned skin, a stark contrast to his dark hair, which looked really fucking soft, Ryan thought. He made a mental note to find out what that guy was using on his hair. The stranger’s eyes shone with passion as he gazed at Ryan and the guitar. They were a warm, coffee colour- Ryan felt like he was drowning. Ironic, for their situation. Ryan laughed inwardly at his own joke for the second time today. He was wearing a leather jacket, similar to Ryan’s, but it looked a LOT better on the other man, Ryan mused. He was honestly star struck. Ryan genuinely felt like he couldn’t breathe- not for the first time, when he had the nervous personality that he did. He wanted to run from this guy, from his dark rimmed eyes and his tall, slim build an- William was signing furiously at him from the corner of his eye, and only then had Ryan realised he’d been staring. He was certain he’d gone bright red, and did his best to hide his face. As he stumbled off stage, completely forgetting the leather jacket, and the little grey case. William started… talking? Whispering? Mouthing? Ryan had no idea. He could barely hear him. Ryan signed to him.  
  
*What are you saying?  
  
William replied quickly.  
  
*I'm saying, Ryan, that I know that guy.


	2. 002

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know this is really cliche so far. But trust me, I have a pretty good plot planned out, So hopefully after this chapter we'll be steering away from all the mushy stuff. Enjoy! Also, panic attack trigger warning for this chapter. Stay Safe!

Ryan blinked. *Which guy?

William signed, pointing not so discreetly at the man, the one that Ryan had not so discreetly been staring at.

*What about him?

*I’ve seen elephants less obvious than you, and that says something, Ry.

*You know what William? There is absolutely no point plotting whatever you’re plotting. Just because he’s slightly more attractive than your average guy, and his eyes are the best shade of topaz anyone's ever seen, and, well, some other stuff, doesn’t mean I’m head over heels for him. I might be gay, but I can still just admire people from afar. Also, not everyone is gay, you know, God Wil-"

Ryan’s voice was cut off with William’s laughter, and you didn’t need to have perfect hearing to see just how funny he thought that was.

*He's about as gay as it gets Ry, you can count me on that one.

Gabe signs at them both, from his position at the counter.

*You and him could have gay-offs! Mirror Mirror on the wall, who’s the gayest of them all!

Gabe smirked, Now apparently singing the words, based on Ryan's lip reading skills.

The man with the model face, as Ryan had now mentally dubbed him, was now gazing at Ryan and William, curiosity flickering in his eyes like an old lightbulb.

William turned away from the tables, signing to Ryan secretly.

*Ryan, put your hearing aids back in real quick.

Ryan hurried onto the stage, throwing his leather jacket back onto his back. He reached discreetly into the pocket, disappearing back into the kitchen, so that nobody could see. Ryan hated himself for being deaf- It was nothing but a burden, frankly. Of course, that was to be expected, according to his audiologist. Deafness wasn’t common, but it wasn’t exactly a minuscule subject either. At least Ryan knew more than the average person about how hearing worked now, which he supposed was a good thing. He slid the hearing aids behind his ears, and pushed the domes into his ear canal. It wasn’t painful, but it was pretty irritating for Ryan, when he's constantly taking them out and putting them back in. He hurried out of kitchen as quick as he’d disappeared into it, the case sliding back into his pocket.

Before Ryan could even register what was happening, William had grabbed his arm, and was dragging him across the café. This was new to Ryan - Not the fact that William was dragging him places, because William did that with Gabe all the time, but talking to new people- Well, that’s what Ryan assumed was going to happen.  
Ryan had pretty much given up on the idea of love. He’d decided long ago that it wasn’t really his _thing._

“Ryan, this is my friend, Brendon.”

Ryan blinked, not even wanting to look Brendon in the face, afraid he’d fall unconscious out of nervousness or something.

“Nice to meet you!” This is when Ryan looked up. He had a warm, welcoming voice, perfectly aligned teeth and possibly the best smile to ever walk this Earth. At least, that’s what Ryan thought. Honestly, he wasn’t wrong.

Ryan is speechless. He’s certain he’s forgotten how to breathe. William pushes him into the chair opposite Brendon, and wanders off with “Duty calls!” He’d abandoned Ryan in his time of need. He wasn’t forgiving him anytime soon. In fact, if William wasn’t as sweet as William was, Ryan would have punched another cleft into his chin. Ryan wants to stand up and walk out. Run away. This isn’t how the universe works, Ryan thought. Love is for people that aren’t like me. I’m damaged goods. Love is for fully functioning people. Deserving people. I’m neither of those things. Ryan finally remembers how to breathe- A little too much. Ryan started to hyperventilate- his lungs burning like embers to ashes. Brendon looks up, starting to panic himself. He walks around the coffee table, kneeling next to Ryan and placing a hand on his shoulder. Ryan's eyes squeeze shut- Anywhere but here. He was going to embarrass William. Everyone was right about what they said. He’s not meant for love. For success. Deaf musicians aren’t a normal thing. Ryan’s mind is racing with millions of things. Words he hasn’t said but deserved. Words he didn’t say but should have. Words that hurt. Words that don’t hurt anymore. It feels like he’s being stabbed in the chest with every quick intake of breath. He’s vaguely aware of some shouting, and Brendon rubbing his shoulder that's still hiding under his jacket. He’s hot. Too hot. He struggles to remove his jacket, his arms now wrapped firmly around his knees. Someone- He thinks its William- removes the leather from his shoulders.

Brendon’s hand slips from his shoulder to his bare arm, rubbing it gently. It’s as though his skin cools down with every touch- Through the blurred vision, He can see Gabe breathing slowly, encouraging him to do the same. He closes his eyes again. There’s a dull ache in chest. When he opens them, his vision starts to clear up. Brendon’s praising him encouragingly, and those words are lighter than any piano Ryan’s ever heard. He smiles faintly. William and Gabe are ushering people out and sitting people back down. Ryan sighs, burying his face in his knees. It’s not an uncommon situation for them to deal with, and that’s what upsets Ryan most. The aftermath seems worse than the panic attacks, honestly. When Ryan said he was a nervous man, he wasn’t joking around. New people- Especially people like _Brendon_ \- Intimidated him.

“So, am I that bad?” Brendon joked lightheartedly, hoping to drain some of the tension from the atmosphere.

Ryan looks up suddenly, his nerves still fluttering around his body.

“No! I-I mean, Of course not! I’m just not… Not a p-people person?” He stumbles over his words, and there’s tension in his chest. For a second, he’s afraid Brendon’s going to laugh. That he’s going to laugh at the semi-permanent stutter constantly lingering in his words. And he does.  
He laughs happily. It’s so much nicer than Ryan’s laugh- It’s light hearted and almost warm.

Soon enough, Ryan smiles. His smile turns into a quiet chuckle. It’s weird to hear his own laugh, as quiet as it may be. But of course, everything’s louder to Ryan.

“It’s fine Ry," Ryan's heart fluttered quickly at the nickname. Sure, William called him it all the time, but there was a certain softness in Brendon saying it. "Neither am I, really. I met most of my friends through Pete, actually- You probably don’t know him, but him and Bill get on- I’m really bad at talking to people, as in, going up and starting a conversation. I was half hoping you'd start the conversation first, but someone like you definitely shouldn’t be wasting oxygen on someone like me, hm?” He smiles lopsidedly. Ryan grins back, finally uncurling from his cramped position on the chair. He stretches, loosening his muscles once again.

“You’re flattering me, Mr…” He waves his hand, waiting for Brendon’s cue.

“Urie. Brendon Boyd Urie.”

“I’d tell you my full name, but it’s pretty odd.” George Ryan Ross III, he thought. I sound like I could be a member of that British thing, the royal dudes.

“Well I guess I’ll be calling you Mr Ryan from now on then! Anyway, since I’ve, you know, let your coffee go cold, I guess I should probably buy you a drink or something? I mean, there’s Pete’s tonight, but I don’t know how many people you know. Wouldn’t wanna, you know...”

‘Yeah. No, it’s fine, just, who’s going?”

“Pete, Patrick, Sisky, Mike, Gabe, William, and a couple of other guys. At least, that's who's been invited."

Gabe cut in.

“Oh, we’re invited, are we?" He looked accusingly at William.

Brendon laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and raising his eyebrows at William.

“Well, You see Gabe, Pete sent out a text, and I just figured that _maybe_ we shouldn’t go? You know, spend a nice night in, in the apartment upstairs that we pay for? You know, rather than paying for _more_ alcohol? Even _you,_ the legendary _Gabriel Saporta_ , maybe prefers to do something else? Besides, I mean, Ryan only just turned 20, he’s not even old enough to drink ye-“

“Yeah, but he does anyway! Besides, Bren’s only 19, and you don’t say anything about him drinking.”

William huffs, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. He opens his mouth, as if he's about to say more, but closes it quickly.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“So it’s settled, then. We’re all going!”

"Hang on, We?" 

"Yes, we, Ryan's coming too!" Ryan looked up, surprised. Whilst a part of him may have internally groaned, he was actually fairly excited to be able to spend more time with Brendon. In fact, Ryan's curious as to why he's never met him before.


	3. 003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did I write this so quickly, you ask?
> 
> Tea. Lots and lots of tea.  
> Also, this chapter provides some more background to both Gabe and William's, and Pete and Patrick's relationship. There's plot though, I promise!

Ryan was easily dismissed from playing for the rest of the day, especially after what happened with Brendon. It took a lot out of him, and Gabe and William let him nap on their bed upstairs. Unfortunately, Brendon had to leave shortly after agreeing to go to this “gathering” with Ryan. Nevertheless, Ryan was fucking _ecstatic_ about going. William was surprised at his attitude, but Gabe just encouraged it. In fact, even though it’d only been 11 in the morning, Gabe offered Ryan a beer to celebrate his newfound attitude. It wasn’t the party that excited him though. Brendon had offered to pick him up. With his car. And they’d be alone. Ryan was practically buzzing- Even then, though, he was also silently praying he didn’t embarrass himself as much this time.

He’d arranged for Bren to pick him up about 9, which was pretty early compared to the time Pete’s parties usually finished. Pete was just that sorta guy- Even if only seven or eight people were going, it was a party. This was mainly because it was _Pete_ that was hosting it. If Ryan was ever dragged to these things, he made sure Pete’s boyfriend, Patrick, was going to be there. Patrick and he got on- similar music taste, both sung, and both of them STRONGLY disagreed with Pete’s interior designing skills. Pete and Patrick (nicknamed “PP” by Gabe- yes, it’s supposed to be as inappropriate as it sounds.) moved into their house now about two years ago, and Patrick had taken the reigns when it came to designing both the exterior and interior of the house. Pete had, for lack of better words, been a whiny bitch about it. So, Patrick allowed Pete to design their room. Patrick, on one hand, did a brilliant job- the house had mostly glass walls, but was about a twenty minute drive out of town, so they rarely needed to worry about people breaking in. The walls were a dark red, and had white carpets. They even had a room dedicated to Fall Out Boy’s awards, with more than one platinum album hanging on the wall. Ryan was jealous- He’d only been in once, and refused to go in again. It just reminded him of the things he’d never achieve. The back of the house was mostly forest, with what Patrick described to be a “Creepy ass treehouse” in the middle of it somewhere. Patrick was a pretty big wuss, so nobody had been too worried. It was only when Pete had come back with blonde hair did everyone decide that horrible things had gone down in that treehouse. Like, for example, Pete dying his hair. Ryan shuddered at the thought.

On the other hand, Pete’s designing of their room had been, well…

Interesting, to say the least.

Ryan had been hanging out with Patrick when Pete had pulled up into the drive, and he’d also seen Pete’s lopsided grin, as he carried about several different paint cans into the house and into their room. He’d then gone back out to the car multiple times, and grabbed some of the stupidest items Ryan had ever seen. Now, however, when Ryan had gone to check on Pete, he’d found himself on the floor in seconds.

Laughing.

Pete had painted all the walls several different colours. A horizontally stripped rainbow pattern. On top of that, he’d painted a smiley face, with black paint. Luckily for Patrick, he’d painted the other walls dark purple. That didn’t stop him painting huge smiley faces on them, though. When Ryan had asked about them, Pete had turned to him, and explained very simply.

“It’s black.”

“Yes, it’s black. Black is poetic, not sad, Ry. Poetic. It represents me. I look happy, but inside I’m constantly contemplating my existence. You know?”

Ryan had nodded out of what he’s pretty sure was fear.

Right now, though, Ryan was sat on the hard mattress in his shitty apartment, trying to decide what to wear. How should he go about this? A band tee? What if Brendon didn’t like that band? What if he wasn’t even a big music guy anyway? Oh god, Ryan thought to himself. I’m fucked. He’d already decided on some black skinny jeans, because those were essentially all Ryan owned, legs wise. He made a mental note to “hurry the fuck up” because his apartment was freezing. He was also struggling to decide whether he should wear his hearing aids or not. What if Brendon considered this their “first date”? No, Ryan thought- they hadn’t said it was, so he brushed that idea off. He knew for certain, though, that he was worried about what Bren would think- What if he dated him because he felt bad for Ryan? What if he didn’t want to deal with someone like Ryan? He was contemplating taking them out when he heard a quick knock on his door. Fuck it, he thought. He left them in, pulling his long strands of hair over his ears once again. Ryan grabbed one of the band related tees he’d laid on his bed and pulled it over his head. He grabbed the leather jacket off of the door handle, swung it over his shoulders hurriedly and went to answer the door.

He shook himself, sighing heavily, and opened the door.

“Ry!” came an oddly familiar voice.

“Hey Br-

Oh. Gabe. Hi.”

From behind one of Gabe’s ridiculous 6’3 shoulders, came a tiptoed, 5’8 Brendon Urie. From the other, a tiptoed 6’1 William Beckett.

“Hey Ry! I know this isn’t, you know, ideal, but Gabe’s car was lacking what every fucking car needs, petrol, So we had to ask Bren to take us, but we agreed you could sit in the passenger seat, so it’s all good, I’m just, you know, really sorry..” William muttered frantically, earning an apologetic look from Gabe.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Brendon said through slightly gritted teeth, “Are you ready to go?”

“I think so, let me just grab my keys-“

William was muttering angrily at Gabe, who had the expression of a kicked puppy. Brendon leaned over to Ryan, whispering in his ear. “They’ve been arguing all the way here, and I’ll tell you what, it’s getting on my fucking nerves.” He leaned away, a grin on his face. Gabe never really got mad at William, he got even. It sounds like an unhealthy relationship, and Ryan had thought that when he’d first met them. However, they both loved each other unconditionally. William had told him that that was what kept them together- Being able to find each other, no matter what.

When Ryan had asked Gabe about it, he’d said that William just thought he was too punk-rock sometimes. As much as Ryan loved William, he had to agree. William _definitely_ had his moments, even if he was the sweetest guy Ryan had met. After this conversation, Ryan had heard Gabe singing, “Fuck bitches, get money”, so he wasn’t entirely sure of Gabe’s priorities. Whatever works for them though, he’d thought.

“Alright. Gabe, William, go get in the car. Now.”

“What? I’m sorry “Dad”, but I don’t have to listen to you, Bren.”

Gabe scoffed. “Only Ryan’s allowed to call Brendon Daddy, Bilvy, come on!”

Ryan flushed bright red, stumbling back a little out of shock. Gabe and Bill had burst into laughter, smiling at each other giddily.

Brendon, however, had reached into his pocket, and pulled out what Ryan guessed were the keys to his car. He held them out calmly, which earned him a confused look from the pair.

“You have ten seconds to take these keys, get the hell out of here, and get in the car. If you don’t, I’ll leave you here and you can _WALK_ to Pete’s.”

Needless to say, Gabe grabbed the keys and ran, William strolling quickly after him. There was an awkward silence between Ryan and Brendon until Gabe and William had rounded the corner and had headed down the stairs. Ryan looked up, Making eye contact with Brendon for the second time that day. They both started to chuckle (Giggle, on Ryan’s behalf.), but it quickly turned into full blown laughter. Ryan’s arm wrapped around his stomach, clutching it and he laughed hard. Brendon was tearing up, leaning against the doorway for support.

“Did you- oh m-y g-od!” Ryan managed to say between his gasps for air. When he’d finally calmed down and wiped the tears off his cheeks with his sleeve, he looked up at Brendon, to find him smiling at Ryan.

“You should smile more, Ry.” Ryan’s heart stopped at his words. He didn’t know how to react to these things- nobody had ever told Ryan to smile more, before. Looking back though, Ryan realised he’d never really had a reason to. The “If you’re hearing’s so good now, can you hear people talking shit about you?” joke was only funny the first few times. Instead of telling Brendon these things, he decided that a quiet “If you say so..” was enough. Bren just smiled. 

“Come on, let’s not keep them waiting- Too long, anyway.” Bren winked, and Ryan looked away, his face bright red as he understood what Brendon was trying to say. Ryan locked his door, and they walked down the hall, Brendon’s arm still wrapped around his waist. They left the building and headed out to the car. Ryan was impressed- Having a car at Brendon’s age was usually unlikely, but he actually had a decent car too. Ryan had always wanted a truck, with the bit on the end he didn’t know the word for. You know, the thing teenage straight couples in movies sat in whilst they confessed their love? Yeah, those things. A brief thought of Ryan confessing to Brendon in the back of one crossed his mind, before he shoved it back to fantasy land, where it belonged. Brendon’s car was a white Ford- Fusion, Ryan thought it was called. Gabe and William were sat in the back of the car, as promised, so Ryan rounded the car and hopped in the passenger seat. As he was doing his seatbelt, Gabe leaned through the gap, and asked blatantly,

“Do you actually have a daddy kink?”

Brendon and William snorted loudly, bursting into laughter.

Ryan has never wanted to disappear more than that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback + Kudos are appreciated ;)


	4. 004

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there'll be some more development, romance wise, in the next chapter. Also, another panic attack warning + some weed n alcohol. Stay Safe Kiddos.

The ride to the party wasn’t the awkward silence Ryan expected it to be. Most of the noise was coming from Gabe’s mouth, which had apparently already consumed 2 beers. William had had one too, but that was only so that he could put up with Gabe.

“So, Ryan, what do you want to do?”

“Probably Ryan Gosling?”

“I meant career wise, Ry.” Brendon laughed.

Ryan went red, apologising quickly for his mistake.

“Sorry, sorry, I- Well, I don’t know. I always wanted to be in a band, I guess? I know I’m not the most- the most confident, but maybe being successful doing something I love would help me with that? I doubt I’ll ever know though.” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “What about you?”

“Same as you, actually.”

“Yeah, Bren’s got an amazing voice Ry!” slurred Gabe. Ryan looked up in curiosity. So, he _was_ a music person? Ryan prayed to _god_ he knew who Tom Waits was.

“I wouldn’t say amazing, maybe above average,” he paused, turning to Ryan. “Maybe we could play together sometime? I heard you playing this morning- It sounded fuckin’ awesome, dude.”

Ryan nodded eagerly.

“That'd be nice.”

When they arrived at Pete’s, a bottle of beer was instantly shoved in Brendon’s hand. This wasn’t a small gathering. There had to have been about 100 people here. Before Ryan knew it, Bren had been dragged into group of people Ryan recognised, but didn’t know. Before he time to think about It, Pete came to greet him. He looked around for help, but Gabe and William had disappeared. Ryan sighed, turning towards Pete.

“Hey Pete.”

“HEYYYYYY! RYAN!” He slurred. He reeked of weed. Not that Ryan minded, he smoked with Gabe all the time. He used it for his anxiety, too. Speaking of, he could really use a blunt right now- he’d been nervous since this morning, like a spring, and it was only a matter of time before he was set off again. He looked Pete up and down. He was a mess (This wasn’t unusual for Pete at these kind of events) and had a rather dodgy looking stain on his shirt. Some of his fingers looked burnt, and that confirmed Ryan’s weed-theory.

“Pete? Where’s Patrick?”

“I don’t know, man, he jus’ said he wa’ goin’ out for the night or somethin’..? You’re-“ Pete hiccupped loudly. “Way too sober man. Cmon’, someone brought good stuff.” Ryan groaned in disappointment. With Brendon busy, Gabe and William probably making out in a corner somewhere, and Patrick out, he truly was alone.

 With _Pete._

He shuffled awkwardly, fingers instinctively reaching up to his ears. Pete’s house was fairly big, and it sounded like everyone was on the other side of the house. The trouble was, Ryan could only tell they were because of how fucking loud it was. Ryan looked up, and Brendon had already disappeared. Ryan guessed he’d been dragged up there as well. Considering Brendon was his ride, he didn’t really have a choice but to keep tabs on him. This isn’t just an excuse to look at him, Ryan thought. I’m just making sure he’s responsible, that’s all.

“Alright, fine.”

They stumbled towards the steps, pushing their way through crowds of drug induced 20-somethings. Thinking about it, it occurred to Ryan that Pete and Patrick had done well, considering they were only 22 and 27.

When they rounded the corner to the top of the stairs, Ryan almost instinctively ripped out his hearing aids. The sound was immense. Ryan was starting to get anxious- he didn’t know how long he could put up the sound and all these people, staring at him. Judging him. At this point, Pete had grabbed onto Ryan’s rather bony wrist, and was pulling him along. They broke through the crowd, to find a group of people in a circle, passing what Ryan recognised to be a joint. God, he needed it right now. It wasn’t until him and Pete sat down did he realise that these were the people that had greeted Brendon earlier. He downed the rest of the lukewarm beer, which had heated up in the busy house. The circle was pretty disjointed, with some people stood up, and others sat on the couch. Him and Pete had sat down on a couch opposite another couch, and watched the blunt pass around the circle. Next to him, however, was Brendon. Him and Ryan locked eyes for a second, before Ryan looked away shyly. Pete threw his arm around Ryan, saying something in his ear that was mostly drowned out by the music. All he heard were the words “Nasty shit” and “Alley”- Frankly, he didn’t want to hear anymore.

“Let’s do shotguns!”

He looked round the circle, trying to work out who’d pushed him into this situation, so he could push them out of Pete’s second floor window.  He rolled his eyes, before he looked around nervously. It was either Pete, or Brendon. He wasn't interested in this stuff, but he definitely did not want to look like a fucking idiot, sat on his own. What he wanted, was to be sat at the bottom of Pete's pool, trying to drink as much as possible before he had to come up for air. William was fucking good at that game- he blamed it on his height. Big guy, big lungs. 

Ryan glanced to his left. Pete didn’t have the best breath right now. That’s why. He turned to Brendon awkwardly, hoping to catch his eyes, at the very least. Ideally convince him to join him in the kitchen, instead of gathered in Pete's hallway lounge, listening to loud R&B and smoking weed that everyone had touched first. Germs. No thank you. That was the ideal scenario, until a tall, unfamiliar face tapped Brendon’s shoulder, smiling at him.

Ryan physically wanted to shove his foot into this man’s ass. He turned back to Pete, rather unwillingly, to find he’d gone. Just like William had earlier. He started to panic.

Ryan looked around, eagerly trying to spot someone he knew. Someone that was apparently going to be there. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the noise, along with everything else, starting to get to him. He shook his head. Brendon isn’t _mine_ he thought. This wasn’t a date. That’s true, he told himself. He needed to get out of there. He watched the group rolling a new joint, and he knew he needed to leave now, while he could, before Pete roped him into some more stupid shit. Why was it so difficult to get pissed on your own in a corner? That's what Ryan always did. And whilst most of him want to curl up and cry right there, down enough alcohol to pass out, because he was fucking emo, and hated his fucking life, hated being deaf, he couldn’t. At least in these scenarios it was nice to know sign language, because its the easiest way of getting your friends to shut the fuck up when you have a hangover the next day.

Ryan stood up, a little shakily, and held his head in his hand for a second. Fucking Idiot. Through his blurred vision, he saw the odd glances he was being given. The man from before, who had happily put Ryan in this position, put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder.

“Hey, man, you ok?”

Within seconds, Ryan had practically shoved the man’s arm off of him, shot him a rather dark and conceding look, and was hurrying quickly out of the room, in a desperate attempt to get away from the volume. He pushed through crowds, couples, teenagers, frantically trying to find the kitchen. The quick bassline was thrumming in his eardrums. At this point, Ryan was starting to think it was his heartbeat he could hear, not the music. He heard shouting behind him. Not like the shouting he could already hear; it was a familiar voice. He didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to breathe. Finally, he found the door to the kitchen. The large oak door was closed, and if he wasn't trying to stop himself having a panic attack, he'd have definitely not wanted to have opened the door. 

He was almost expecting the sight that awaited him- the well lit kitchen littered with cold pizza and a few lines of coke, which he would not have been surprised to find out if Pete had at least done one, or at the very least bought it.

Ryan continued his journey, pushing through the frat kids and their fucking pineapple pizza, snatching himself an unopened can of what he thought was whiskey. His head throbbed a little. This'll take the edge off, he thought. He made it to the double glazed doors, which had already pulled wide open onto the patio. He focused on controlling his breathing, wanting nothing more than to pull his legs up to his chest and bury his face in his knees, so hard that perhaps he’d disappear. Ryan practically flung himself into the empty, tattered deck chair that he recognised from Pete's garage- not before pulling it at least 2 metres away from another body, though. He sighed to himself, flicking open the can, enjoying it. The evening was nice, the sky blue and mostly clear, apart from the few clouds dotted around. It was a stark contrast to the trees that lay just beyond the massive fucking backyard, and if Ryan wasn't focusing on enjoying his little Jack Daniels buzz, he'd be pulling out his Motorola Flipphone and taking a photo. 

It wasn't long before a hand snaked round his shoulder. He didn't need to look up, but his breath hitched in response anyways. Truth be told, Ryan was already feeling a lot better away from the music, but thats definitely not what he was telling Brendon. And he certainly wasn't going to tell Brendon that he was jealous of other guys. Ryan was 100% not like that. Love was not for him, he didn't get jealous. He didn't like himself, definitely- but he definitely had the best dress sense.

'Hey Ry, Why did you leave so quick? Are you okay?'

"How did you know I'd be out here?"

'I've seen you before, you know. You always sit out here. I always wanted to come and give you a hug, Travie'll tell you. I can give you one now if you want?'

"Just- Just knock yourself out." He replied quickly, still not looking at him.

Brendon frowned. Ryan did not need this right now. He was either really no-touching when he was like this, and he could be rude as all hell, which he, admittedly, kicked himself for later (Like now), or he couldn't bare being alone.


	5. 005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weed + stuff.

Brendon crouched and wrapped his arms around Ryan's chest. One of Brendons arms kept rubbing his shoulder, like he had when they first met, about 8 hours ago. He whispered softly, not wanting to alarm Ryan.

“Ry, It’s ok, yeah?”

Ryan stayed expressionless, but deep down, a little sentiment generated. Maybe he did need that. 

“We can get out of here for a while, if you want? You don't uh, seem to enjoy the inside (I know, thanks Captain Obvious); so..”

Guilt washed over Ryan.

“It-It’s fine; It's fine. I'm fine.” He muttered into Brendon’s chest, enjoying the therapeutic smell of, well, Brendon. Ryan thought; he smelt like “Warm” would smell like, if it was a smell. He also smelt like green tea. Ryan didn’t think it was possible to love green tea more than he already did.

“Its fine,” He replied confidently. Ryan looked up, and he’s glad he’s not in a moving vehicle right now- He knows he’d probably jump out of it to save himself the embarrassment of driving home early with Brendon, just because he couldn’t handle his anxiety. He felt stupid, if anything- Yet another reason, he thought, why these things are not for me. Brendon continued, “I promise it doesn’t count as a first date. I’ll pick something a little quieter next time.” He winked at Ryan, a stupid smile on his face, revelling in Ryan’s quiet snort of laughter.

“Now, as I was saying, Mr Ryan, let’s go somewhere a bit nicer, yeah?”

Ryan replied with a snappy; “What? You’re kidding. There’s nowhere nicer than a drug fuelled house, packed with teenage alcoholics is there?”

Brendon chuckled softly, standing up and offering a hand to Ryan. He took it, wanting to avoid the awkward situation he’d end up in, should his legs have given out again. Brendon seemed to instinctively wrap his arm around Ryan’s waist- He said it was to “Support him”, but Ryan wasn’t so sure. He didn’t question it, either way. He tried his hardest not to melt into Brendon’s side and they walked around the house, and up to the gate that led out of the backyard.

“Can you wait here a sec, while I go inside real quick? I need to get some stuff- I promise it’ll be worth it.” Ryan nodded hesitantly, from a combination of nerves and not wanting to leave Brendon’s warm grip. Reluctantly, he let Brendon pull away, and watched him run back into the kitchen and beyond.

He returned no more than five minutes later, clutching a small, blue bag, that he guessed was originally a lunch box of some sort.

“What’s in it?” He questioned.

“You’ll find out. Now c’mon, let’s go.” He wrapped his arm around Ryan’s waist again, and this time he claimed it was to “Make sure they didn’t get separated”. Again, Ryan didn’t question it. He pushed through the crowded garden, this time bringing Ryan with him. Ryan tried not pay attention to masses of people lingering in the backyard, smoking things they probably shouldn’t, drinking things that’ll kill them in a week, and staring at Ryan- at least, that’s what he thought they were doing- Simply so he wouldn't make eye contact with anyone. A squeeze on his hip brought him back to reality, and he looked anxiously up to Brendon for the first time since they'd arrived, who was focusing on steering them through the garden.

They quickly reached the fence, and Brendon pushed the bag through the hole in the gate gently. He bent down, knee up and hands together, offering Ryan a lift over. He gratefully accepted, hopping nimbly over the fence, soon followed by Brendon. Ryan eyed the bag with curiosity, but said nothing.

Brendon walked a little way ahead, trying to scout his way to their destination. He turned back, watching Ryan’s face light up with curiosity, admiring the way the black silhouettes of the trees and their branches contrasted with the faded purple of the sky.

After what felt like two minutes of walking, Ryan turned back, looking over his shoulder. Pete’s house was still visible, but fairly far away. Suddenly, Brendon called him over, to the foot of a tree; at first Ryan was confused, but Brendon quickly gestured to the large hut resting in the branches of the tree. He smiled- He loved treehouses. He waited for Brendon to go first, and noticed a bottle of blonde dye resting at the foot of the tree. This must be the one that Trick’s scared of, he thought. He snorted at the thought of Pete coming back with poorly dyed blonde hair, before climbing hurriedly after Brendon up into the treehouse.

It was quite pleasant, considering it looked old from the outside. Two beanbags had been thrown into it, and the door painted a bright white. The floor had a dull, blue rug covering it. It was probably to stop the rain rotting the wood. It wasn’t until Brendon turned on the fairy lights that decorated the ceiling of the treehouse did he realise how nice that moment was.

Brendon gestured to a beanbag next to his, which Ryan happily curled up on. When he sat down, he realised Brendon had his back turned, and was opening the bag secretly. He heard a quiet crinkling of paper, followed by the opening of a bottle. The familiar smell of marijuana cleared his head, and it got even better when Brendon turned out with a handful of well rolled joints and a lighter. Brendon took one of the joints, putting the rest back into the bag carefully.

“Where’d you get it?” Ryan questioned.

“Oh, I stole it from the group earlier. The guy that brought it – Travie; Hes my friend so he'll be slightly less pissed than he should be – he left the bag behind him, so I took it. I mean, he’s got more, right?” He grinned in response, and Ryan couldn’t help but smile back.

“So, Ryan,” Ryan looked up again.

“Dibs?” Brendon asked, his eyes dark in the light, and locking with Ryan’s.

“Uh.. I mean, sure, I guess. if you want. It's not like we're really lacking weed right now, so we don't have to.” Ryan replied frantically.

Brendon put the joint between his lips nimbly, only looking away to light the joint carefully. Ryan watched in awe as smoke drifted out of his mouth. Brendon breathed in, his throat letting the smoke drift down with ease. Ryan was fascinated. Ryan could see Brendon’s eyes more clearly now. They were darker than he'd expected, and this was all happening so slowly that Ryan almost didn’t notice Brendon releasing the smoke. He was entranced by the way it left Brendon’s lips, and finding its way to his as it dispersed through the little tree house. He took it in slowly, a familiar, Weak, warm haze settling over him. He revelled in the feeling, finally relaxing. He held the smoke easily- loving the soft burn in the back of his throat. He watched Brendon’s face as he let out the smoke, how it tensed, like he was stopping himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the positive comments + Kudos, it means a lot. I'm glad you're liking this so far :')


	6. 006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more panic attack warnings for this chapter, finally! Also, the return of Patrick, Ft Ryan wearing the wrong shirt, and lots of hugging.

Brendon and Ryan spent the next few hours in each other’s arms, pushing away all thoughts of regret. It was about 12AM when they decided to head back to the house, and Ryan realised just how much he enjoyed Brendon’s company.

“You know, Ryan. I think you’re a pretty brave guy. Wearing a Fall Out Boy t-shirt to, well, Fall Out Boy’s house, especially when you’re already friends with them? That’s pretty impressive.” He grinned, gesturing to Ryan’s t-shirt.

Oh shit. In the rush he’d been in earlier, Ryan hadn’t even noticed. He was wearing a black tee, which, upon closer inspection, had a large picture of Pete Wentz across the front. Ryan mentally hit himself, zipping up his leather jacket ashamedly.

“God’s sake..”

“Also, Ry, I know it upset you earlier, so I’ll keep it short. You know how we wanted to play together? Well, that dude that tried helping you earlier? He’s called Spencer, and he plays drums, and he’s apparently really good! I was like “Hey, Me and Ryan could start a band!””

Ryan’s heart sunk at the mention of Spencer, but Brendon’s attitude brought it back up again within seconds. He smiled.

“I’d like that.”

At this point, they were down to the last three joints. Ryan was about to ask if they should light another, but he quickly decided against it. He was certain his eyes were an angry red right now, and he was relaxed enough to go back into the party. Brendon watched Ryan eyeing them curiously, and held them out to him. Ryan shook his head, but Brendon insisted he take them, even if he wasn’t going to light them.

“Hey, Ry, Gabe told me, Well, Pete, in his words, uh, "Ryan's a big lazy stoner with mental issues, so if you hurt him I'll sleep with your mum, Pete" Yeah, just, keep it, alright? Brendon’s rambles were cut off as Ryan wrapped his arms tightly around Brendon, Burying his face in the spot between Brendon’s neck and shoulder, clinging to the warmth. Brendon was surprised at first, but quickly returned the hug. Ryan didn’t know what he was doing- He’d never hugged someone first before. William hugged him on bad nights, while Gabe stood in the doorway, a hint of hidden sympathy in his eyes, Ryan’s mom had hugged him after his Dad took everything out on Ryan again. His music teacher had hugged him before he left High School, he’d told him to keep going with his music, because it would work out.

But no, Ryan had never hugged first.

He clinged to Brendon with an eagerness Ryan didn’t even know he had, and he couldn’t help but smile when Brendon returned it with an equal amount of passion. They stayed there for a minute, bathing in each other. They pulled apart, and walked back to the house in a pleasant silence.

When they get back, it’s just as hectic as when they left, but there’re plenty more unconscious people across the floor now. Patrick’s there too, rolling them all over into the recovery position, so they don’t end up choking on their own vomit or something. Ryan decides it’s not a scene he’d like to see. Patrick looks up as they hop blearily back over the fence.

Ryan breathes a sigh of relief, walking hurriedly up to Patrick, breaking away from Brendon’s side for the first time in hours.  He reaches out to Patrick through the crowd, though most of them have moved inside at this point, the cold finally getting to them. Patrick reciprocates, and they pull each other into a quick, one armed hug when they reach each other. Brendon smiles, a quick wave enough for the two of them. Ryan wondered what their relationship was.

“Hey, ‘Trick, where’ve you _been?_ ” Ryan’s speech is slightly slurred, but Patrick still understands him.

“Out, luckily.”

Ryan snorted, “Let me guess, a “Small Gathering” Patrick and Ryan said in sync. They grinned, and so did Brendon, understanding the situation.

“Yeah, well. I’m not even sure all of these people were _invited_. We’re just lucky the press are used to this sort of thing, I guess. So, Ry, up to anything good?” He glanced knowingly between the two, and Ryan flushed red, stuttering over his words once more, before Brendon cut in, his lips curved into a wide grin.

“We’re starting a band!”

“Well, I-“

‘Who plays what? Is it just you two? You can’t have a band of two people!” Patrick rambled quickly, rather excited about the idea of a rival band. Fall Out Boy doesn’t really have any competitors- Ryan thought their music was amazing, and he could see why.

“Well, Ry plays guitar-“

“Not that well.”

You’re fuckin’ awesome, Ry,” Brendon continued. “And I play piano, guitar, the lot.”

Patrick snorted at his confidence, before adding a quick “Yeah, and you can freakin’ sing too, miss the big one, why don’t you?”

They laughed, before Patrick suggested they send Pete a track if they get one done, because he’s been ordered to look for new talent or something. Frankly, Ryan had no idea Pete even worked for for such a huge label- he thought they’d just been signed. Apparently, Pete had his own label- Decaydance- That Pete wanted to sign more alternative bands into. Ryan wasn’t sure that the lyrics he wrote could be considered “Alternative”. Maybe “Depressing Burlesque”, but not alternative. We’ll see, Ryan thought. They smile and agree either way, and Ryan silently prayed they _would_ send something. That they _would_ get signed. He knew it wouldn’t happen, but he wanted it to. Brendon was smiling, like always. Ryan reached up to brush his hair behind his ear again, it having fallen forward when he’d jumped over the fence. He almost visibly flinched at the noise that shot into his ear. Fucking feedback, he thought. He pressed the tube in his ear discreetly, the action quickly becoming a habit of his. Because Ryan was as forgetful as Ryan was, he’d left his hearing aids at home, or dropped them, more than once. He liked checking they were still there- That didn’t mean he was always ready for the heart attack that came with them _not_ being there. The world was so much quieter without them, you’d think he’d have noticed.

Truth be told, Ryan liked quiet. He lived in it. He wrote lyrics about it. He loved it. Something about Brendon, he wondered, might change that. Ryan didn’t think any sound was worth hearing, unless it was in the form of music. And Brendon’s voice, luckily for him, was the best pitch, melody, tune- whatever you want to call it- That Ryan had ever heard.

Until that voice was snapping him out of his thoughts as they wondered through the almost empty (if you exclude the trash) house. “So, should I call that drummer? You know, the Spencer dude? I think he knew a bassist, J-something- Jim? No, wait, John? Jon! Right, Jon.”

Ryan smiled calmly, and simply looked up.

“That sounds great, Bren.”

At this point in time, Ryan had no idea what he was getting himself into.


	7. 007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the lack of uploads!! I've actually had tonsillitis. Don't get ill, Kids. Meds taste nasty.  
> Anyway! This is just an aftermath chapter I guess, and how Ryan ends up in Brendon's bed ;) (No smut yet! Hear that? Yet.)

Ryan was pretty relaxed for the rest of the party- he blamed the high, honestly. He was also able to proudly say that he didn’t leave Brendon’s side for the rest of the night, unless it was to grab another drink. He didn’t always know what the drink was, but it had alcohol in, and that was enough. They found Gabe and William eventually- William was sat in Gabe’s lap in the corner of the room, laughing hysterically at something Ryan didn’t quite get. When Brendon sent Patrick over to find out, he’d just said “Corners.” And sat back down. Brendon didn’t drink anymore that night- he had to drive them back, had to be the responsible one.

It was about 2 when Ryan decided he was too drunk, and that all he wanted to do was go home and sleep. Brendon helped him stand up, even though he usually had a pretty high alcohol tolerance. He really must've had a lot. It’d been difficult getting William and Gabe out of there without breaking something, whether it be a vase or a few bones. Ryan doubted they’d feel either at this point. Ryan leaned into Brendon’s side, and Brendon had a tight grip on William’s arm, pulling him to the car. William wasn’t even that drunk, but he was great bait to lure Gabe to the car (Gabe followed William like a lost child, Ryan thought. He said this to Brendon, who replied with; “Well, Gabe doesn’t have to be drunk to follow William. Once, Bill went to the store at like, Midnight, right? Because, you know, he was hungry. Gabe woke up while he was gone, and ran down to the store to find him. Gabe won’t admit it, but Bill said it was cute.” Ryan turned round, smiling at Gabe knowingly.

When they finally convinced Gabe to get in the car, Ryan was exhausted. He flopped back into the passenger seat, trying to ignore tomorrow’s (Or today's, technically) headache. They drove in silence, until they turned a corner, and Gabe shouted this in Ryan’s ear. He burst into a fit of laughter, and Bill chuckled hazily.

Ryan reached up to ears tiredly, touching his hearing aids with shaky fingers. Brendon looked over curiously, but didn’t say anything. They arrived at the café quickly, and Brendon got out to unlock their door for them, because Gabe had lost his key. William was pretty quick to accuse Gabe of eating it; Gabe just threatened to eat William if he didn’t stop talking.

After Brendon finally convinced Gabe _not_ to eat William, and to settle for ice cream instead, him and Ryan were on their way again. Now, despite being drunk, Ryan _knew_ Vegas, so he noticed pretty quickly that they were driving _away_ from Ryan’s house, instead of towards it.

“Hey,” his slurred speech made it difficult for Brendon to understand him, but he got the idea. “Where the fuck-“ Ryan hiccupped loudly. “Are we going?”

Brendon snorted at his bluntness, mentally comparing it to the nervous, stuttering Ryan he’d met earlier.

“We’re going to my house. You don’t look like the type of guy to own Advil, and unluckily for you, William and Gabe probably won’t want a knock on their door tomorrow morning- Well, it’ll probably be at least lunchtime before you wake up- so you can’t get any from them, either.

“How dare thou!” Ryan hiccupped again loudly. “For I am George Ryan Ross the Third!” Brendon turned to look at Ryan’s deadpanned expression, and he could tell he was being completely serious. Brendon burst into laughter, “So, it’s Mr Ross? Didn’t think you’d tell me.”

“Shut up, or I’ll put my lance in your ear.” Ryan muttered, hitting Brendon playfully. “We just met, I don’t-“

 A string of hiccups left Ryan’s mouth.

“-Sleep with everyone, you know?”

Brendon smirked. “Only me?”

Ryan laughed, but didn’t reply. His mind was betraying him, his eyes trying to shut and push him into the quiet headspace of sleep. Brendon could see how tired Ryan was, and this was another reason why he’d practically kidnapped Ryan- He wanted to help Ryan have at least _one_ good night’s sleep. By the looks of it, this was rare for Ryan, the blue, bruise-like circles under his eyes giving him away. They pulled up outside a three bedroom house, somewhat out of town, similar to Pete’s, but a _lot_ smaller. Still, though, Ryan was shocked. How did a nineteen year old have his own house? Ryan voiced these thoughts via his almost completely incoherent mumbling, but Brendon understood. Somehow.

“Take a guess.” He offered. Brendon climbed out of the car, and Ryan tried to follow. Brendon ran round, trying to stop him before it was too late, but Ryan had already opened the door and stood up. Ryan managed about two steps before falling over, stumbling carelessly. Brendon quickly knelt down by him, rubbing his back softly.

“Bren, ‘m gonn-“ His mumbling was cut off by gagging and coughing, and Brendon cringed outwardly.

“No here, Ry, come on, it’s a short walk, ok?”

His hand found Ryan’s waist once more, helping him onto his shaking feet again. Brendon locked the car, stuffing the car key into the pocket of his tight black jeans and retrieving the house key from it instead.

They waddled along Brendon’s drive slowly, one step at a time. Eventually, they reached the door, and the grip of Ryan’s waist loosened a little. They wandered through the house, and Ryan could barely make out much of it at this point. The living room and kitchen were adjoined, he knew that. There was black leather sofa in the corner of the room, which was accompanied by a matching leather chair. Through the door of the kitchen was a short corridor, with stairs at the end. The other two doors in the corridor led into the lounge and the bathroom that consisted of a toilet, and a small sink. Ryan guessed the shower was in the second bathroom, upstairs. Brendon pointed the bathroom out, and Ryan was gone. He stumbled hurriedly, falling onto his knees in front of the toilet, and the alcohol was burning in his throat as it left. Brendon rushed off, returning two minutes later with a glass of water and a spare shirt. Ryan coughed up the last of it, exhaustion finally hitting him. His eyes almost drifted shut again, before Brendon was helping him to his feet once more. Ryan took off the vomit-smelling Pete Wentz shirt, replacing it with the Bowie shirt that he’d been passed. Ryan knew he’d be a Bowie type of guy. Ryan practically fell asleep on Brendon’s shoulder as he helped him up the winding staircase, and up onto the king size bed.

“Living alone means that I can have whatever size bed I like!” Brendon explained at Ryan’s bewildered expression. Ryan only had a shitty single bed. It creaked every time he moved. Brendon practically lifted Ryan off him and onto the bed, which, because of Ryan’s thin, almost fragile build, was fairly easy. He shrugged off his jeans quickly, letting them drop to the floor. The moment his head hit the pillow, Ryan was out like a light, the alcohol and the weed crawling across his brain like a warm blanket.


	8. 008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter's actually a lot longer than I planned, but I figured you guys deserve it after I made you wait so long for last chapter. Another panic attack warning for this chapter! This is really just the aftermath of the night before, Ryan being Ryan and feeling guilty, and the return of poor Ryan's stutter. Enjoy!

When Ryan finally awoke the next morning (afternoon), it felt like he’d been hit with a large frying pan, and his was head aching intensely. His vision was still fuzzy, but he noticed the Advil and a glass of water waiting for him on the nightstand. Ryan didn’t even know he owned a nightstand. He picked up both of the items with shaking hands, his hangover a lot worse than he’d have liked it to be. Swallowing the meds quickly, he made an effort to sit up, the warmth of the bed almost too unbearable to leave.

Then it hit Ryan harder than his hangover.

He sat up quickly, rubbing the corners of his eyes frantically.

Where the fuck was he?

Ryan’s breathing sped up as he scrambled out of the bed, racking his brain for any memories of yesterday. One. He remembered the treehouse- walking with-

Brendon! Yes! That guy! I must be at his! Ryan thought desperately, his mind racing at a million miles a minute. He sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments, allowing the Advil to kick in, before pulling on the damp jeans from last night. He wasn’t sure if it was sweat, beer, or an entirely different substance he could feel on them, but he ignored it anyway.

He felt something in his pocket digging into his thigh, and he pulled out the carefully wrapped joints that he vaguely remembers attaining last night. He’d smoke up now, but he can’t find his lighter, and he _definitely didn’t_ want Brendon to yell at him for making his house smell like weed. He continued to stumble nervously through the house, poking his head through each door to find Brendon. He stumbled across the lounge, too, noticing the small pile of blankets and cushions. Ryan guessed that Brendon slept there last night, instead of in his own bed. The small pile of neatly folded clothes, that Ryan recognised as Brendon’s from last night confirmed Ryan’s suspicions- God, he felt awful.

He kept wandering. When he’d been through the rest of the rooms, he headed in the direction of what he guessed was the kitchen, because he hadn’t found it yet, and he was pretty sure Brendon would have a kitchen. He pushed open the door, glancing round, trying to find a decent place to start searching. He noticed the bottle of whiskey laying on the side, abandoned. Ryan guessed it was a gift of some sort- a small, opened card lay on top of it. He didn’t recognise the brand, the label in French.

As soon as he stepped towards it, a memory struck his mind, something that hasn’t happened in a relatively long time, and then a white-hot wave of anxiety hit him. The room switched quickly between his home and Brendon’s modern kitchen. The emptiness of the house switched between his father and Brendon, and back to emptiness. He stayed himself, just got shorter, weaker, younger. His legs begun shaking slightly underneath what little weight he carried.

NoNoNo, not now, Ryan thought frantically, Fuck. He didn’t even have a choice. He rummaged through the drawers of the kitchen, trying to find a lighter. Fuck, even a box of matches would do at the point. He finally retrieved a white lighter from a drawer underneath one of the various cupboards, The words "Pray for the wicked" pasted on the front. The overwhelming thoughts of; “I’m going to die here. You’re intruding, he doesn’t want _you_ in a _mess_ on his kitchen floor. You’re disgusting. You’re going to die. You’re getting in the way.” Ran through Ryan’s thoughts. It wasn’t one of the worse ones he had- the anxiety attacks that felt like he was being beaten up, the ones that felt like his whole body was being kicked violently, and that just made the flashback worse, more realistic. He remembered the worst ones where he’d had to sacrifice his precious anxiety medication, and he’d kicked _himself_ after. No point wasting them on mild ones, he’d thought. Medical bills were a bitch.

He tripped forward in his race to get out the door, his thighs trembling. He was about to grab onto the handle when his legs practically gave out, his shaky hands unable to find the strength to open the door, and he dropped like a weight next to the door. He curled up into a tight ball, as if it’d somehow protect him from his own thoughts. The lighter lay discarded on the floor, and he wasn’t sure if he even had the strength to pick it up. He was breathing quickly, but he was also choking on the air around him, like something was lodged in his airways. The chest pains hit him hard, taking what little breath he’d manage to get and kicking it out of his lungs as painfully as it had entered.

He buried his face in his knees, wanting nothing more than to disappear. Somehow, he convinced himself that the person parking their car outside agrees. The unfamiliar sound of somebody opening the front door started Ryan, and he buried his face further into his knees, hoping that, somehow, he’d eventually curl in on himself.

The door opened slowly, Brendon closing the door quietly behind him, reading his mail, as if he wasn’t cliché enough already. It wasn’t until Ryan emitted a choked sob did he notice the joints, the abandoned lighter, and, most importantly, the ball that was Ryan. He dropped the mail, so that it now lay abandoned beside the weed.

“Hey, Ry, it’s ok, I’m here, alright?” Ryan just shook his head, his breathing coming in short, sharp gasps.

Brendon hesitantly reached out, placing a firm hand on Ryan’s knee. He murmured reassuringly to Ryan, the usual “Hey, just breathe for me, Ry. It’s alright. I'm sorry I left you on your own.” He’s heard it all before. But it sounds different, the words slipping through Brendon’s lips, not forced out like William does when he’s scared, because he doesn’t know how to handle Ryan like this.

“Please, Ryan, Ry.” He began stroking Ryan’s knee comfortingly, and Ryan’s short breaths hitched. Why did this _stranger_ (A loose term, Ryan thought.) get under his skin? Maybe this is just how people like me behave. We’re not used to affection, Ryan mentally pondered, the negative thoughts fading just so slightly. Brendon’s voice cut into his head once more, his own blood roaring in his ears. He opened his eyes just slightly, his vision fuzzy from burying his face into his knees so hard. He blinked rapidly, his breathing still quick and shallow.

“Ry, you aren’t going to die. I’m here.”

This hit home with Ryan.

Nobody else knew what it felt like- to go through this, that is.

Brendon understood.

Ryan couldn’t even begin to imagine how, didn’t want to. Brendon knowing was enough. The hand stroking his knee got quicker, like Brendon was reliving a memory of his own, maybe. Ryan hoped not.

He finally convinced himself to open his eyes properly, even though he was still staring at his jeans, still damp. Brendon didn’t seem to mind, and Ryan was grateful. Ryan couldn’t comprehend why Brendon was here, frankly. He was just Ryan. Brendon could kick him out right now, no regrets. He’d say it was like they met yesterday, but, in reality, they had. He let out another choked sob, his breathing slowing down as he came down from his panicked high. He lifted his head, cautiously, as if something was about to hit it back down again.

Brendon was looking at him, his soft eyes locking with Ryan’s. Ryan never understood the fuss about brown eyes. They were just, well, brown, to him. You know, the same colour as mud. But now he gets it. Oh, he gets it now. Brendon had eyes that belonged in a jewellery store, the shades of golden brown overwhelming to Ryan.

Ryan looked away.

No.

A sob escaped his throat for the last time, the tears finally breaking through his eyes and down his cheeks. Brendon reached out, no words spoken. Ryan almost fell into his arms, sobbing hard into his shoulder. Ryan didn’t think he’d cried that hard in front of anyone for a long time. He cries for about five minutes, not sure if he could physically produce more tears. Brendon doesn’t question it- Ryan’s realised that he’s good like that.

Once Ryan’s sobs have finally quietened, and Ryan just lay there comfortably, debating whether to go back to sleep before the Advil wears off, Brendon breaks the silence.

“So! Pancakes?”

It turns out, Brendon’s surprisingly good at making pancakes. He’d suggest to Brendon that he split off the career path he’s currently on and become a chef, but Ryan realises he doesn’t even know what career path he’s on. It also occurs to Ryan he doesn’t know a lot about Brendon, and he mentally decides he’d like to find out.

“Wait, B-Bren. Can I call you that?” Ryan’s nervous self was kicking back in.

Brendon nods, a mouth full of pancakes. Ryan’s glad that Brendon- now informally known as Bren- isn’t one of those people to talk with his mouth open. Images of Gabe fill his mind. Brendon raises a finger at Ryan, non-verbally asking for a moment, and Ryan pauses.

Brendon swallows his pancakes happily, looking up at Ryan.

“Where were you this morning? I mean- W-well, it’s your house, y-you can d-do whatever you like, I’m just c-curious. You don’t have to ans-“

Ryan’s anxious ramblings are cut off by a rather monotonous, yet somehow enthusiastic response.

“I had a shift at The Smoothie Hut this morning, and then I was visiting family- My dad, he’s on this trip- business, I think- and my mother and sister are deaf, so I’m looking after them.”

Ryan looks up suddenly, startled. Oh no.

“ _Deaf? Like, completely?_ ” Brendon nods. “ _And you’re taking care of them?_ On your _own?”_ Part of Ryan wants to say, “Me too! High five!”, but the intellectual side of Ryan (The smaller side- At least, in his opinion) decides against it.

“Yeah. Sorry if that freaks you out, it’s a lot to take in.” Brendon laughs nervously, and Ryan can tell it’s a sensitive topic for him. “So, Ry,” he continues. “How d’you know sign language?” Ryan stares for a second, confused, before it hits him. He saw him signing at William yesterday. God, today’s just _full_ of surprises, Ryan mused awkwardly.

Brendon smiles at Ryan’s now flushed face. “Thanks for saying I’m “Slightly more attractive than the average person." I appreciate it. Hey, you’re not too bad yourself.” Brendon grinned again, and Ryan stumbled over his words, unsure of what to say.

“Um-Well- Through-Through school, Yeah.” He decided quickly, sighing, not even wanting to attempt speak about the topic any further, in case he slipped up and scared Brendon off. By the looks of it, caring for his family was stressful enough. Ryan wouldn’t even have a chance to be friends with Brendon if he found out Ryan was deaf too. God, he’d tell Spencer. And that Jon guy, too. They wouldn’t want a deaf guy in their band.

Now, though, what else did they even have to talk about? Twenty minutes ago Ryan was crying into this persons arms, now he’s eating pancakes in the same person’s kitchen. Twenty hours ago, they hadn’t even _met_. Ryan wasn’t sure whether he should thank William later, or flip him off.

The room remained silent as they continued to eat their pancakes. It’s true though. Brendon _was_ attractive, even if it didn’t look like he believed Ryan. Ryan looked up to the clock on the wall of the kitchen. Ten past two. He outwardly sighed. He was pretty sure he had a mic night tonight. He’d have to go home at some point to check his calendar, then take a well needed shower. Ryan was pretty sure he smelt disgusting, like sweat, alcohol, and the smell of other people’s sex. As far as he knew, that wasn’t a pleasant smell. He’d borrow Brendon’s shower, but no way was he going to ask. Maybe if he waited long enough, Brendon would get sick of his smell and _demand_ that he take one. Unlikely, though. He seemed too nice to do something like that.

His phone vibrated suddenly in his back pocket, breaking the silence. Ryan reached for it. It was a Motorola, and, frankly, the worst phone on the market. Ryan didn’t care for materialism much, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t like a better phone. One that actually let him have over 100 songs on it, maybe. God. He wasn’t sure he was liking this new “ITunes” Craze.

The text was from Pete, and he could almost hear the lack of enthusiasm in the message.

***

 **Pete W;** Hey Ry. Heard you went home with pretty boy last night. Thanks for helping us clean up! That was sarcastic, in case you couldn’t tell. But, hey, if you’d like to grace me and my piles of hangover cures, and the pile of bodies that haven’t woken up yet, then please, do. Patrick’s making everyone waffles. He said that we weren’t allowed to order pizza, because there’s no _“Substance_ ” I don’t think he realises guys like us need it, like, to survive. Lol! We better stick together, huh. Anyway, Tell Brenny boy to answer my texts for once. Can’t wait to hear the tapes, by the way. I doubt you’ll be as cool as me and Trick are, but hey, that’s a pretty huge feat anyway. You know, even being on our level. Text me later :)

***

Ryan scoffed at Pete’s ego. No wonder him and Gabe are great friends.

“Hey, uh, Brendon, Pete says to answer your texts.”

“No. Once, when he was drunk, he tried to have phone sex with me. I have it recorded if you want a copy, it’s the funniest thing you’ll ever hear, I promise. Hang on, I’ll go get it. And more Advil.”

Before Ryan could protest, he’d hurried out of the room, and returned no less than two minutes later with two more pills, a glass of water, and what looked like a CD. He set the water and tablets on the table next to Ryan, who swallowed them gratefully, his killer headache starting to make a reappearance. A small beep rang in Ryan’s ear, just quiet enough for him to hear. He mentally sighed. His hearing aids were about to run out of batteries. Ryan had to make a quick exit. He reckoned he had about 20 minutes to get out, call a cab, and get home. Small talk wasn’t an option right now.

“Hey, thi-This was nice, really, thanks for letting me s-stay- I’m sorry for intruding, I gotta go, really-“

“Hey, it’s no biggie, really. Come over anytime you like, maybe we can have that jam session you promised me last night, hey?” Ryan prayed that wasn’t a euphemism.

“Y-Yeah! That sounds fun.”

“I’ll invite the others over too.” Brendon paused, scribbling his number down on some paper.

“Text me when you’re free. Do you need a drive home?”

Ryan smiled, but shook his head. “A cab will do., It's fine, Don't worry.” He replied quickly.

“Alright, I’ll call one up. You can go check upstairs if you like, make sure that you’ve got everything.” Ryan nodded swiftly, heading for the stairs once more. He headed up into Brendon’s room, his socks silent against the carpet as he hurried up the stairs, not wanting to take up too much of Brendon’s time. The only things he noticed to be his were the black leather jacket, strung across the chair, and the few coins laying on the floor. He pulled on the jacket quickly, shoved the coins into his back pocket, next to his phone, and began heading back downstairs. He pushed on his shoes, which had been neatly placed next to the door. His hearing aids beeped demandingly again, and he sighed. He turned, looking round the house one last time, luckily noticing the abandoned joints from earlier, which he carefully slipped into the pocket of his jacket. He took the lighter, placing it on the stand at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled, remembering how Brendon had given him them last night.

God, this guy-

The front door was open slightly, and he guessed Brendon had already gone out. At the top of the drive, Brendon was trying to hail one of the few cabs that drove through the suburbs. At least, Ryan guessed that if anything was ever to be called a suburbs, it’d be this. Trees lined the streets, the green palm trees bright against the blue sky. It was hot out, but that was to be expected, Ryan mused. It was just past noon, after all.

He wandered up the drive, taking off the leather, opting to carry it across his arm instead. God, it was fucking _hot_. A cab pulled up as he reached Brendon’s side, and he smiled, hopping in. Brendon waved, and Ryan gave his address. Back to his shitty apartment in the city, he thought bluntly. He almost felt rude leaving so quickly, but was almost glad he had. He hoped Brendon did think he was rude. He waved back at Brendon, a small smile crossing his face. They drove on, and it wasn’t until they’d rounded the corner did Ryan look down at his lap, and notice the shirt he was wearing in his peripheral vision. Brendon’s.

Yeah, he knew Brendon was a Bowie guy.


	9. 009

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter explains how hearing tests work, and there's FINALLY some Gerard Way! Woo! Also, plot. Enjoy!

“8:30? Are you sure that’s the latest you can do? Alright, thanks. Yeah, no, it’s fine. Alright. Bye.”

Ryan sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket half-heartedly. Another appointment. Just what he needed right now. It’d been about three days since the party, and Ryan’s “ _horribly horrible hangover”_ , as Pete had dubbed it, had finally gone.

It seemed that these days, they were getting more and more common- they weren’t, but Ryan found them so irritating that it felt like the six months between his appointments passed ridiculously quickly. Two trained audiologists who, honestly, haven’t got a single clue what it’s like being deaf, sticking wires and plugs in his ears. It makes him feel like some sort of robot, being taken apart, told what’s wrong with him- which, _he’s very aware of, thank you very much_ – and put back together again. He sighs. That being said, he liked some of the audiologists. They understood his “Touch me accidentally and I’ll shrivel up and die” vibe.

“God, who fucking came up with this shit? 8:30 appointments? Who the fuck gets up that early?” He muttered to himself. He wasn’t even sure why he’d bothered trying to change the time of it, he has to go. You’d think that with these sorts of things, Ryan thought, You wouldn’t need someone to tell you what’s wrong with you. God, I’m the last person who’d go to medical school, and I can tell you I’m fucking deaf. He sighed inwardly.

He looked at the battered clock hanging on the kitchen wall. Nine. Great.

He undid his belt, walking to his room. He shrugged it off, before sitting on the bed and taking off the black sweatpants, the damp jeans from earlier discarded in a ball on the floor. He did the same with the sweatpants, leaving him in his boxers. He gripped the bottom of the shirt, ready to take it off, and throw it into the now growing pile, then looked down, David Bowie’s face staring back at him. Huh. Somehow, he didn’t feel like he could take it off. Well, it was cold anyway- might as well stay warm. I’ll wash the shirt anyway, Ryan thought. He fell back onto the bed, laying there for a moment, thinking, before he climbed under the thin duvet.

Huh, Ryan thought. Somehow, it felt different. Ryan’s eyes drifted shut, waves of sleep pushing him into subconsciousness. It smells like green tea in here, Ryan thought.

The next morning was a haze for Ryan- one minute he was in the shower, the next he was fully dressed in a waiting room. He had less time than he’d thought- the Hearing and Balance centre was right in the middle of the city, so he had at least a 20 minute drive. God, his head still fucking hurt from Saturday.

“George Ross?”

God, he fucking hated his name.

“R-Ryan. It’s Ryan.” He smiled politely at the woman, but on the inside he was dying. Fuck, he thought. She probably thinks I don’t know my own name. Shit. He cringed as the woman led him to the usual room.

They always looked like vaults, the doors leading into an overly large, quiet room. God, they freaked Ryan out- his heartbeat always louder than usual.

The appointments usually lasted about an hour, as they had to plot Ryan’s new results on a graph, and he’d have to hand over an entire month’s salary.

Ryan suffered from sensori-neural hearing loss- damage to the inner ear, meaning it was permanent- and he’d had it most of his life. It was considered a medical miracle he’d managed to learn fluent speech, even if he barely heard himself when he didn’t have his hearing aids in. Luckily, it’d gotten worse when he was ten years old, as opposed to ten months. It hadn’t changed from what it had been then, ten years ago now. He’d always struggled with accepting it- he was bullied in middle school. Not only by his fellow classmates, but his own fucking dad, too. Ryan almost shuddered at the thought. 

He smiled awkwardly as he sat in the seat, smiling at the familiar man.

“Hey Ry! Been a while, hm?”

‘Certainly doesn’t feel like it, Gee.’ Ryan sighed, slumping back in his seat.

‘God, 8:30? Really? I stopped waking up for school two years ago, I’m not starting that sleep schedule again for some hearing thing.’

“God, you aren’t alone. Sometimes I look at my hours and wonder why I even _picked_ this career. Frank doesn’t even _have_ a job yet, and he thinks the same thing! Fuck, man. The real world sucks ASS. Anyway- Let’s get on with the shitty part.” Gerard got up from his chair, plugging a button into the computer before handing it to Ryan. He heard Gerard mumbling to himself, and almost outright snorted. _“_ Ears are so fucking weird… why did I even pick this job? God, fuck- Maybe I should just start a rock band-” Ryan took out his hearing aids grudgingly as Gerard placed and tightened the headphones over his ears.

“G-God, Gee- Ease up a bit with the tightness-“

Gerard laughed, signing to him, knowing Ryan wouldn’t be able to hear him.

*How did you know I was a bottom?

Ryan rolled his eyes, and Gee grinned as he passed Ryan the button.

The appointment flew by quickly, the tasks Ryan had to complete now tedious- The headphones went on, and a series of beeps were played, ranging in volume and pitch. Ryan hated this bit- he was supposed to press the button when he heard the beeps, but he’d always press it sporadically, out of habit, when there wasn’t even a sound playing. Or, he’d get paranoid, thinking he’d heard a sound, like he had tinnitus, and press the button. It was incredibly frustrating.

Afterwards, Ryan took off the headphones, placing them on the side carefully, not wanting to break them, and get Gerard into some shit. He laid the button next to it, watching Gerard expectantly as he plotted the audiogram quickly, scribbling all sorts of circles and x’s onto the graph.

He squinted, looking between the monitor of his computer and the paper, before turning to look at Ryan.

“Ok, Ry, look, I gotta-I- Ok. This- Says somethin- something, er-“Gerard thrust the paper in Ryan’s general direction, and Ryan stared at him, confused.

He glanced down at the paper. On the left was the graph from his previous appointment, which was incredibly familiar to Ryan, considering it’d stayed the same for most of his life. On the right was today’s graph. He paused, almost choking on the air around him.

“Ry, I don’t know why it’s done that, really-“

Fuck, Was his hearing getting even _worse?_ What if he went completely deaf? He knew deep down he probably overreacting- Hearing fluctuates all the time. Even so, this appointment suddenly felt significant to Ryan.

He didn’t have the money to work out why he was deaf, And Gerard fucking knew that-

No, Ryan, He told himself. It’s not Gerard’s fault.

“It’s really not too significant, Ryan, don’t stress. I’ll just turn your hearing aids up, yeah? And we can go from there?”

Ryan just nodded, still staring at the paper blankly.

+++

Ryan flung open his apartment door, and could’ve cared less about the yell he got from his neighbour as the door hit the thin wall. He slammed it shut too, tossing his bag carelessly onto the floor.

He muttered angrily to himself, pacing back and forth through the cold living room.

“Fuckkk." He kicked the old sofa next to him angrily, cursing at the pain in his foot. His breathing sped up, the situation starting to affect him. He cursed under his breath, heading over to the small fridge in the corner of the kitchen that was joined onto the living room. He rummaged through the fridge, scowling at the lack of alcohol, and, well, the lack of pretty much anything consumable.

He rummaged through the bag he had previously flung across the room, and retrieved his wallet successfully. He shoved it hurriedly into his back pocket, and headed for the door once again, slamming it shut angrily behind him.


	10. 010

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sososososo sorry I haven't updated in seven months- truthfully, three days after uploading my last chapter, I got a boyfriend ;) Needless to say, my hands were pretty full with exams, a relationship, friendships etc. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and continue to follow this story with me <3

Ryan stormed into the store, a dark glare dominating his features. The store was open late, and Ryan silently thanked a number of Gods that he didn’t believe in. (Un)fortunately for Ryan, he hadn’t noticed the white ford fusion parked round the corner of the store, and he most certainly did not notice the man with the model face unbuckling his seatbelt.

He hurried quickly through the aisles, looking up at the hanging cardboard signs directing him to the alcohol. He wasn’t picky when it came to alcohol, which helped when it came to Ryan’s limited budget. Whatever got him drunk the quickest, he supposed.

He knew he didn’t have the money to waste on beer, vodka, or whatever other alcohol infused drink he decided to buy, but he couldn’t have cared less at this point. Ryan wasn’t thinking straight- he needed an escape from his own head again, and alcohol provided him that. It was as if his Norepinephrine balanced out when he was frustrated enough. Ryan grabbed the six pack of store-brand beer from the fridge in the corner, shutting it with more force than necessary. He stormed back through the store, almost knocking over the magazine rack in the process.

Had it not been about to crush him, Ryan would’ve let it fall.

He caught it with one hand, placing the beer on the floor before standing the magazine stand back up properly. He bent down, picking up the newspapers one by one, jamming them carelessly into the slots. This was until, however, the bold white letters of a magazine caught his attention. Billie Joe Armstrong’s face was plastered to the front, and a bright-blue outlined box promised to review Fall Out Boy’s new album. Ryan scoffed, feigning disinterest, before hesitantly flicking through the pages. He stood up, look around to see if anyone was watching. The store was near empty, apart from the two employees sharing a coffee in the corner, and the one stood by the cash register. It’s not like he was going to buy it anyway, right?

He flicked through the glossy pages, becoming more and more immersed in what this critic had to say about “From Under The Cork Tree”.  Ryan had listened to it a few times on vinyl- by choice, and definitely not because it’s the only thing Pete plays when he has guests. He was about to turn the page, when he felt a small _Thump_ against his leg.

Ryan looked down, and, needless to say, he wasn’t surprised. This had happened before, and he was used to it by now. A small girl was gazing up at Ryan with curiosity. However, unlike most other kids, this girl didn’t appear to be _afraid_ of Ryan.

If anything, she looked _interested_. _Curious_ , _maybe._

It wasn’t until he heard a voice behind her that Ryan realised why she was so interested.

“Ryan! Hey!”

He looked up suddenly, making the poor girl jump. Oh.

“H-Hey! Bren!” He stuttered quickly, his bad mood melting away as soon as he looked up. He made eye contact and was instantly hooked- The speckles of brown faded into gold, then coffee coloured- Ryan was having a hard time looking away.

“Sorry about her, she gets a little too excited when she gets to go out.”

“Pardon?”

“OH! Right, Ryan, this is my little sister, Kara.” Kara looked up with wide eyes, and Brendon translated the conversation into sign language for her quickly. She smiled up at Brendon, then to Ryan, before waving happily. She ran off, but Brendon simply shook his head and smiled. So this was the deaf sister, huh?

“What’cha readin’, Ryro?” Brendon interrupted Ryan from his thoughts.

“Ryro?”

“It’s just a cute nickname. You know, for a cute dude, and all.” Brendon smiled, genuinely, and Ryan could’ve sworn his heart caught in his throat.

“I’m, uh, I’m reading...” Ryan flicked to the front page.

“Rocksound. Nice choice, Ryro.” Ryan smiled again at the nickname, his heart pounding. “I love your taste in beer, too. God knows how many times I’ve used those same beers _just_ to get drunk. It goes great with some weed, you know? My friend Jon, he’s the best dealer you could meet. Sometimes he gets so high, he just _gives_ me weed. Just because he’s feelin’ nice. Those are the kinda people you wanna hang around, you know?” Brendon laughed cheaply, smiling.

“Jon? Isn’t that the guy from the party?”

“Yeah! Turns out we went to high school together! He’s a really cool guy. But hey, you know what they say. Once a stoner, always a stoner!” Ryan smirked, reaching for his wallet. He gazed at the front cover of the magazine, scanning for a price. Ryan already knew he didn’t have the extra $5 to spend on a magazine, but he figured it was worth checking. He frowned when he realised he was right, and reached to put it back, picking up the beer with the other hand.

“You’re not gonna get it?” Ryan shook his head awkwardly.

“Mind if I do instead?” Brendon smiled. Ryan nodded in response, equally as awkwardly.

They continue to walk around the store, Ryan gripping the pack of watered down alcohol tightly, chatting to Brendon so naturally that it seemed like they were old friends. Eventually, Kara came running round the corner again, tugging at Brendon’s hand, before gazing up at Ryan curiously again.

She yawned, and Brendon picked her up, carrying her. They wondered to the checkout desk, and Ryan realised he’d picked up his groceries while they’d been talking. It’d been a long time since he’d actually had a full fridge- Jesus, this man was changing him already?

They paid at separate self-checkouts- Ryan being too nervous to go to an actual cashier, Brendon just understanding- and got on with their nights. Ryan watched the machine swallow his $20 sadly, but tried not to let it show on his face.

By this point, Kara was asleep in Brendon’s arms, and he wondered off to put her in the car while Ryan guarded his groceries. He hurried back in, smiling and picking up his bags. He walked Ryan to his car, leaning against the side of the car as Ryan laid his groceries down in the back of his car. Brendon still held his groceries in his hand, and offered to shut the door for Ryan, so that he could get into the car. Brendon was grinning, and Ryan glanced at him with confusion.

Brendon came to the driver window, and they said their goodbyes.

“See you around, Ryro?” He smiled his beautiful little smile.

“Y-Yeah! Definitely!” He smiled back, with an equally beautiful smile.

Ryan drove home in silence, the only sound being the dull rain drizzling against the window, and his only thoughts being of Brendon.

\-----

He turned on the dim light of the apartment, and dropped his groceries on the counter. He began emptying them, enjoying the idea of a full refrigerator. He pretty much lived off of instant foods, and they lived in his cupboard.

He then reached into the last bag, and pulled out a glossy item. He held it in his hands- the Rocksound magazine- how had it gotten there? He frantically grabbed the receipt, but couldn’t find the magazine anywhere on the receipt, and even began to worry he’d stolen it, until he realised; he was now friends with someone that could easily be Satan. In a good way, though- like God, but sinful.

**Brendon.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done with my excuses. I'm lazy. Ya Girl is back with some gay shit. Don't chase me, exam season is hard.

After Ryan had returned home, sober and strangely not hungry, he’d had a string of texts from Brendon;

*** **Bren;** Hey, Ry!

 **Bren;** Don’t answer these if you’re still driving. I can’t have you dying on me <3

 **Bren;**  Especially since Jon’s parents are letting us use their garage tomorrow afternoon!

 

 

 **Bren;**  That sounds scarily kinky, I meant band practise, I swear

 **Bren;** Anyway, let me know if you can come, I’ll forward you the address (: If you can bring any super cool music gear you might have lying around, that’d be fuckin’ great, and if you need a hand I’ll help you any day, Ry.

 **Ryan;** I’ll be there, Bren. :)

***

Ryan’s heart always beat a little faster when things involved Brendon.

Tomorrow was going to be hell. There’s nothing better than being a tone-deaf musician, Ryan thought. Brendon’s really going to love me after this. He laid in bed that night, his body screaming. He wanted a drink. Just a sip, to calm his nerves. But he knew he’d need a glass full for it to really take effect. He sighed and sat up, rubbing his face with his sweaty palms and sighing. His hair was matted to his forehead, and the world was silent. On one side of his dresser, a pair of glasses. The other, his small, silver box. Is this what his life had come to? He figured this was the side of him that should be locked in with the silver box. He rummaged around in the bedside drawer, pulling out an almost empty sharpie marker. This’ll do.

He worked the word into the already printed “Phonak” letters on the silver box, and set it back down. The pen went back in the drawer, and after quickly opening a window, he finally went to sleep.

**“Pandora.”**

\---

And like always, the sun came up, and Ryan was late. Like always. A quick shower and a strong cup of coffee seemed to have woken him up enough, though, because he was out of the house within 30 minutes.

He decided to walk today, mostly because he enjoyed the simple atmosphere. The sky was blue- Just blue, no clouds, and some of the trees looked black against the sky. It was also partly because he felt a little sick from the lack of sleep he’d gotten the night before. His sleep had dragged on, and he’d woken up in what felt like a pool of his own sweat, which he hoped the shower and drugstore deodorant would get rid of. His guitar was heavy though. He hadn't brought his amp, but he'd found his old electric and had brought that, just in case. He wasn't really sure what kind of music they were gonna play, yet. Anxiety overwhelmed him- He knew he was probably supposed to bring his acoustic or some shit, he'd get there, and they'd kick him out or something for being a walking disgrace.

He’d tried hard that morning with his hair, brushing and straightening his curls perfectly enough that they covered his ears almost entirely. The small, singular chunk of long hair in front of his ear whilst the rest was tucked behind, made him look like some kind of cute, emo pixie. Ryan hated it. He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his black jeans, and double checked the address. Maybe this guy would be high when he got there. Maybe he’d be the kind of guy Brendon promised he’d be, and just give him a ton of free weed. He crossed his fingers. He remembered Spencer, too. Stupid fucking Spencer. Ruining his night. Ruining _Brendon’s_ night, he thought, but quickly corrected himself. _No, Ryan. Pete’s was your fault, you’re the one that got upset. You ruined his night._ He smiled sadly, and unconsciously tucked his hair behind his ear.

He didn’t know why he was li

ke this- Most of the deaf people he’d met at support groups, or sign language classes were fine with being deaf. They weren’t open about it, per se, but nobody bothered them about it. They weren’t treated differently. They all seemed happy the way they were. For some reason, Ryan wasn’t like that. Again, he wanted to blame his “Friends” from middle school, or his dad, maybe, but he just couldn’t. He knew deep down it was his fault he was deaf.

He rounded the corner, and turned quickly into the first house on his right. There was a hedge clouding his view of a house, and a decent sized hole had been cut into it, the arch built into a trellis.

He could already hear someone fiddling around on the bass- That must be Jon. At least he had the right house? He recognised it as the bassline to an old Pink Floyd song and smiled.

He wandered through, noticing how surprisingly well kept it was, considering he was apparently the world’s biggest stoner.  He skipped up the steps to the door, raising his hand to knock, before a hand fell on his shoulder.

“Boo!” Ryan span round, his heart beating quickly.

“Fucking- Jesus Fucking Christ…” He sighed, inhaling deeply. He was surprised to find that the man behind him did not have red rimmed eyes, or even slightly smell of weed- But, by process of elimination, he decided this had to be Jon. He had gentle light brown hair, almost a dirty blonde in a cut similar to his own, sweeping past his eyebrow gently. He seemed nice.

“Sorry, they sent me to say you didn’t need to knock, we’re just round here, man.”

Ryan looked at him, puzzled.

“Come On, Man!” Jon(?) Had already skipped back down the steps, his head poking from round the corner, Motioning Ryan to him. Ryan followed quickly, not surprised he hadn’t noticed the garage- it had a little wooden door on the side, which stood out from the rest of the garage. It was a stone like box, with ivy covering the sides. The roof were beautiful ceramic tiles, which also seemed to blend into the hedge behind it that he had walked past.

He entered through the door, noting that it was surprisingly heavy. There were a few sound proof panels on the wall, a mac plugged into the wall, Brendon, stood with his guitar- It was a white Stratocaster, but he’d covered it in stickers. “Fall out Boy Sucks” was stuck on the left side in bright blue, holographic writing. There was a man sat on behind part of a drum kit, that he recognised as Spencer- Ryan guessed that it would’ve been a little too official to bring his own kit. The man who had walked in first had gone over to sip his Mountain Dew. There was one more man in the room, playing bass rather loudly, his earphones in, plugged into the Laptop. That’s weird, he thought Jon played bass. If that was Jon, then who was this?

Brendon looked up suddenly. “Ryan! I’m so glad you could make it!” Ryan smiled softly, his mind a little scrambled. “Bren, Hey.”

Spencer scowled a little at the pet name, but only enough for Ryan to notice. Ryan shuffled on the spot awkwardly, opting to close the door behind him, sealing his escape.

“Right, so Ry, this is Spencer,” He pointed to the man on the drums that, pathetically enough, Ryan had recognised instantly. “This is Brent,” He pointed to the man that had led him in- Wait, so that wasn’t Jon? Brent smiled, waving a little. “And this,” he said, stepping over to the third man, and pulling out his earphones, is Jon!” Jon looked up suddenly, noticing Ryan for the first time. He had dark, almost shaggy hair, and deep brown eyes. He smiled kindly at Ryan, and Ryan relaxed a little. He seemed nice. He walked over to him, which made him withdraw a little, and offered his hand- “Nice to meet you. Brendon says you’re talented as shit.” Ryan blushed a little, glancing over at Brendon, who was looking at him with an almost sparkly look.

“So, guys! Now we’re here, let’s get started, yeah?” Brent announced.


End file.
